The Hardships of Raising An Infant
by witheringdreams
Summary: He thought he was just hallucinating, so he tried rubbing his eyes but to no avail. "B-bruce!" Tim called out, eyeing the young infant in his brother's bed warily. "Please tell me what I'm seeing isn't who I think he is." To simply put it, what he was witnessing was the real deal. (De-aged! Nightwing. Rated T for future swearing.)
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:**

He thought he was just hallucinating, so he tried rubbing his eyes but to no avail. "B-bruce!" Tim called out, eyeing the young infant in his brother's bed warily. "Please tell me what I'm seeing isn't who I think he is." To simply put it, yes, yes he is. (De-aged! Nightwing.)

Includes the robins and perhaps some future chapters featuring Selina.

Basically a story of brothers trying to raise eldest who'd been turned into an infant as they try and find a way to turn him back. Thought it'd be a hilarious idea, so decided to give it a whirl. I'm not that good at writing stories, so please forgive me for my lack of skill in advance! q-q

**[Ages: Jason: 16, Tim: 14, Damian: 10, Dick: 18 / About 1-2 after being de-aged.]**

_**Chapter 1**_: _Pixie Dust_

—

"You know, you not very good at escaping. You might want to work on that a bit," Nightwing joked, taking a few steps closer to the man he had corned. "I have to ask though, are you even trying? Because I totally get the feeling you aren't."

"S-stay back, freak! I'm warning ya," the middle-aged man ordered. He ignored the teenager's witty quips, deciding not to give the vigilante the satisfaction of enraging him. Instead, he opted to pick up the baseball bat that was decorated with nails sticking out from all directions. Gripping at the hilt, he gave it a swing. "Move it ya twerp, or else yer gonna get it."

He feigned a wince. "Yeah, I'm sensing some hostility here...why must you guys always wish to do things the hard way? Not that I'm complaining or anything." Nightwing sent him a cheeky grin. "Makes things more fun. Well, for me at least."

"You tryna' say somethin', punk?" He questioned, still keeping his bat raised over his shoulder. "You can try all ya like but I'm not goin' to give this up," he says as he pulls a gold watch from the inside his black trench coat, waving it around in a mocking motion as to spite the vigilante.

Nightwing narrowed his eyes at the man's actions, extending his arm out. "Give me the watch so I can return it," he says, masked eyes glancing at his gloved hand before meeting the man's gaze again, "and I'll be happy to escort you to a prison cell with your name on it afterwards."

The man chuckled at the vigilante's threat. "No can do, it's a present for the boss. Ya see, I worked hard stealin' it, and no punk prancing around in skin tight clothin' is gonna trash all my hard work."

Nightwing hummed. "Is that so? Then I'll guess the only option left is to take it by force then. Seeing as you're unwilling to comply." The ebony haired male huffed. "I did ask nicely but I guess some criminals just can't be reasoned with. Even when caught like a cornered rat." The male shrugged, head shaking with mock disappointment.

The burly man gripped his bat tighter. If he hadn't been wearing gloves himself, he was sure he'd be getting a multitude of splinters varying in size from the wooden weapon. Although small, those things hurt mad crazy.

How he would've loved to have a more sufficient weapon like a gun. Now that would make his life, oh so much easier. However, because their organization was so low on money, they had little funds to purchase them and had to make do with the cheaper, more affordable weapons. No matter how much he wanted to detest the idea of using something other than a gun, he was stuck with a nail bat.

"Since you aren't going to listen willingly, we'll do things your way." The teenager exhaled, reaching behind his back to pull out his signature weapons- twin escrima sticks. They slid out from their holster with little hassle. Doing what he does best, he shows off; twirling the dual batons in his hands with such expertise. Nightwing gave the man a lopsided, cheeky grin at the sudden shock he was displaying.

He gave a breathy laugh, sweat starting to glisten on his forehead. "S-so what? Whirlin' around a couple of sticks ain't anythin' to be proud of! I could do that with my eyes shut. Hell, probably could do it in my sleep!" he chastised. It didn't take a simpleton to know that he was lying.

"Oh?" Nightwing mused thoughtfully, stifling back a small chuckle upon hearing that revelation.

Huffing out a sigh of annoyance, the perp raised his weapon again. "Okay, enough the idle chit-chat. I'm done with talkin' with ya," he told him flat out. He had places to be and it wasn't here with this little brat.

"Then by all means," challenged Nightwing. He brought his batons up, beckoning him to make the first move.

The man accepted the invitation, giving him a critical eye as he studied the younger man. Letting a disheveled grunt rip from his throat, he charged, slowly gaining speed as positioned his nail-ridden bat behind him in order to create more momentum for when he brought it forward to greet the boy's skull.

_Now if only he'd been quicker,_ Nightwing thought with an amused smile.

He waited for the right moment when the man brought the bat just over his head, when he found a clear shot, he acted on instict. The teen threw one of his batons, aiming with careful precision before launching it at him, the weapon zipping through the air like a bullet. It came into contact with the man's wrist, the bat he once held over his head soon abandoned by the newfound pain searing in his wrist. His whole body cringed at the sudden impact, instinctively bringing his unharmed hand to his injured as he tried massaging the pain away. Light shuffling of feet stopped him from caressing his hand, his eyes desperately scanning the ground for the weapon he'd dropped.

"I'm guessing you're looking for this, huh?" Questioned Nightwing, noticing the man's eyes flicker towards him.

"You little..." he cursed under his breath. _Damn punk must've grabbed it when I was distracted,_ he thought bitterly.

He held up the bat up like some kind of trophy, giving it a playful swing or two. "Man, you guys are quite creative, aren't you?" The 18-year old said, noting the jagged nails sticking out of it. Once he was down analyzing it, he threw it over his shoulder having no use for it. It hit the black pavement with a _**clank**_ before echoing off the brick walls, dying out after the third repeat. With the man's only weapon was discarded, they could get to the real stuff and that being the items he stole.

"Now will you be so kind?" Nightwing asked, holding out his hand. "Hand over what you stole and make this easier on yourself."

There was a momentary pause of silence as the man fiddled with his black coat, eyes fixed on the slick pavement.

_Is he...thinking about it?_ Nightwing gave him a puzzled look.

The silence continued for a few minutes. Growing impatient, the young vigilante put his hands on his hips as he awaited the man's answer. Did it really take that long to decide? It could be that he was trying to brew up some kind of escape plan but where could the man go? Nightwing was blocking the only way out, so it's not like it was even an option if he decided to try and brush past him. That wouldn't end well for the man. It wouldn't be pretty if he refused turning in what he stole, either. That didn't matter much though, Nightwing would be more than happy to take back the items forcibly if need be.

Suddenly, the man stopped playing with his lengthy trench coat, head lifting up, eyes locking with Nightwing's as he bobbed his head once. The middle aged man's lips opened briefly, a small mutter escaping his lips but he couldn't understand.

"Excuse me but what?"

"I said fine."

"You mean to say that you're actually going to return what you stole?" Nightwing eyed him skeptically. "What happened all that flare?"

"Is it so hard to believe a guy would rather give up the items he stole rather than be beaten to a bloody pulp? Yeah, no. I'ma pass." The spark in his eyes gone just as quickly as the breeze blowing past.

At a loss for words, the ebony haired male studied him, still not trusting a word he says. He was so sure of clobbering him up moments earlier. Had he gotten possessed or something? Never had he encountered someone who gave up this early in a fight. It was cowardly to say the least. Although, he didn't blame the man for changing his mind. He probably wouldn't have lasted very long had he resisted him, not many criminals did; with the lonely exception being Gotham's most notorious villains, now they were a force to be reckoned. Absolute nut-cases they were, fueled by the terror of Gotham's citizens. There wasn't a day in Gotham where one of those loonies were wrecking havoc on the city and its' people.

"You hearin' me, right? Ya win, just don't hurt me anymore! Tie me up, arrest me, do whatever ya need to do," he said, even holding up his hands in surrender.

Nightwing shook his head as he snapped back to reality. Giving the man another skeptical look, he inched towards him. "You can start by handing over the pocket watch." The man must've been hiding more than just a watch in that long trench coat of his, it seemed like the ideal place to keep items, stolen or not.

"The pocket watch! Oh, of course. No problemo," he said as he began fumbling through the inside pockets of his black trench coat. "Let's see, where did I put it…" Out of his peripheral, Nightwing took a few more steps closer. The man continued to dig through his pockets, his gloved reaching around his coat for a good minute or two.

Nightwing coughed, growing more impatient with man and grew doubtful but then something was placed in his hand. Nightwing glanced down at the antique pocket watch now in his possession, his thumb lightly tracing over the intricate patterns carved into it. Although old, it was shiny and had a smooth surface, hardly any noticeable cracks if not any. Whoever owned the pocket watched kept it in peak condition and must've polished it often as his reflection could easily be seen with the help of the street lights.

While the original boy wonder was distracted, the burly man reached into his coat once more, reaching father into his trench coat this time. He took out a small glass bottle and popped off the cap with this thumb, the blue powder pooling in the palm of his hand. _Special concoction the leader whipped up,_ he thought to himself, a grin plastering his face. _Always knew it'd come in handy one of these days. What better to test it out than on one of the bat brats?_ The young teen was too trusting; honestly, he never thought it'd be so easy but with a little bit of acting, anything could be believable, even if it wasn't that good.

Nightwing, unbeknownst to what the man was planning next, lifted his head up and was greeted by a fist full of pixie dust. He blinked a few times, trying to piece together what had just happened.

"Haha! How'd ya like that? Not so tough now are ya, ya little punk!" exclaimed the man, proud with his work despite Nightwing not having much of a reaction. "Wait...why isn't it working?" He paused, waiting for something to happen. That's right, he mused. The powder wouldn't take affect right away and needed time to flourish first. The man didn't know how long it would actually take for the dust to kick in but the real shame was not being able to witness the side effects.

His gloved hand reached to ruffle his hair, the dust clouding up around him as he shook his head like a wet dog. Once satisfied with the puffs of dust clouding around him, he scowled at the man. "What did you just throw at me? And what the hell is this stuff?" He brought his hand up to his nose and took a whiff of the powder that was stuck to his gloved hand. It doesn't really smell like anything specific, he thought. Perhaps the man was just trying to spook him, get him to be paranoid, maybe beg for a cure. For all he knew, the whole pixie dust thing could've been a mere joke to mess with his head.

"It's something the boss fixed up. I heard it's got interesting side effects," the man snickered through crooked teeth.

"How do I know you're not lying?" Criminals always spewed lies because they knew it frightened people into submission. Nightwing, on the other hand, was not going to buy into it so easily. In all honesty, he felt perfectly fine.

The man shrugged, deadpanning. "Perhaps I am. You can believe whatever you wish to believe, doesn't matter to me."

He didn't know what to think of the situation. At this point, the man was just toying with him, perhaps payback from his earlier witty comments. Nightwing tried piercing him with his best glare in an attempt to make him spill but only received the same crooked smile as before. The teen was a great detective, sure, but he wasn't exactly the greatest at reading people.

Extending out his arms, he locked eyes with Nightwing. "You can feel free to take me to jail now."

Nightwing clenched his jaw, the muscles working. If what the man was preaching about the strange blue pixie dust was true, Bruce was going to kill him. Maybe not in the literal sense but the lecture would be long and insufferable, that's for sure.

END.

**Author's Note:**

Update: Sort of rewrote the chapter, not entirely but added and fixed up a few things.

Sorry it's so short and stuff, I hit a huge roadblock multiple times writing this and honestly, decided to just get straight to the point. Hopefully, the next chapter will be much better than the first and longer. I'll do my best to be a bit more descriptive on things too!

Next chapter will maybe be up tomorrow or saturday.

Feel free to write suggestions or criticisms that could help me, I'd really appreciate it! Also, you can suggest some ideas for future chapters and interactions with characters too. I have a few ideas, so that'll be fun to write. I'm not yet sure if I'll just keep just the main bat family or if I'll add other characters into the mix too, I guess I'll just have to see. Thanks for reading my awful story nonetheless! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** _Because I forgot to add it in the first chapter but I don't own Young Justice nor it's character's. The story is all just for good fun._

_**Chapter 2:**_ _De-aged_

—

"All yours," Nightwing half-smiled, shoving the criminal forward, officers on standby with cuffs at the ready. The teen wasn't being realistic when he said he'd escort the man to his own jail cell as he didn't have the time, deciding to just let the men in uniform handle the rest. Once he got the burden off his hands, he ascended into the night with his grapple. Although he was glad to put the guy behind bars and all, he wished he would've gotten more info out of him first. By the time he tied up him up though, his lips were sealed. Never to be opened again, at least, not until Nightwing delivered him. And although he didn't get a direct reply, the man would chuckle at each question that came from the young man's mouth, so it wasn't exactly complete and utter silence.

Moments like these made him wish he could read people's minds, how quickly that info would surface just as quickly as he looked at someone; unfortunately for him though, he had no such powers and with the man's refusal to speak, he'd have to use his advanced detective skills to figure it out. Perhaps his younger brother would be willing to help him out. Tim had been getting quite good at identifying dangerous drugs that could be used to a villain's advantage, so that was somewhat reassuring.

There was still a part of him that felt it was still just a hoax, that he was just toying with him; wanting him to grow paranoid and stay awake at night just waiting for the side effects to kick in. Maybe it was in the way the man held himself, or the way his expression wavered when nothing happened straight away. Despite having some doubts about it being able to affect him, he wouldn't just ignore it. In fact, the first thing he'd do when he got back was take a shower to decontaminate himself and that's exactly what he'd decided to do.

—

The warm water pounding against his skin made every tense muscle ease as it cleansed him from all the grime and sweat built up from a long night of patrolling. The strange dust was removed from his dark hair and olive skin with a considerable amount of scrubbing, not wanting to leave even the slightest speck of dust. He would be lying if he said he wasn't a little bothered by his faulty mishap but he didn't want to admit it openly because of how easily he trusted the guy. Man, he really needed to pay closer attention. How in the world did a golden pocket watch distract him for that long anyways? It was quite laughable, really.

_That's something you need to work on__,_ Bruce would scold and he was right. The teenager was still a little gullible sometimes, often having to have Bruce or one of his younger brothers reprimand him despite him being the eldest. It was rather embarrassing to say the least.

As he finished up with his shower, he changed into his fresh pair of clothes, tossing his Nightwing costume in the laundry bin when he walked out. After being exposed to whatever fine powder the man had, it needed a good wash. He'd most likely polish his escrima sticks later to rid them of the lingering powder as well but not before getting a sample, of course.

Peeking over at the alarm on the nightstand in big bold crimson lettering, it read: _**1**__**2:13am**__**.**_ He'd finished sweeping through his part of Gotham a lot sooner than he'd originally thought. With everyone sleeping and Batman still out, the ebony haired male pondered for a moment, weighing the options of sleep or research. He opted for the latter as he pulled out a silver laptop from one of the cubbies hidden beneath his bed.

Dick hopped into his bed, making himself comfortable before clicking away. He stayed up for about an hour or two, searching the web for anything that could resemble the powder but would come back empty handed every time he felt he had a lead. His eyebrows knit together in frustration as he huffed out a sigh, throwing back his head and letting it hit the headboard with a gentle _**thud**_. He slammed the laptop shut and tossed it aside. _Maybe I should just wait until morning and investigate with the others,_ he pondered.

It was only another few hours before daylight breaks and there were no side effects yet, usually they'd kick in by now but there was nothing. No headaches, sudden dizziness or even stirring in his stomach. He still felt perfectly fine. It very well could've just been a joke like he assumed from the beginning. Shaking his head, Dick let out one final sigh. _I guess I'll get a few hours of shut-eye and just hope my speculation is correct. And by the time morning comes, we can figure out what the stuff actually is._

Laying back into his bed, his eyelashes fluttered shut and darkness consumed him. Perhaps, one of his biggest mistakes.

—

The smoky aroma of crispy bacon wisped through the air, sizzling and popping in the pan as Alfred hummed softly. Tim grabbed a few glass plates and silverware, wanting to help out the butler by setting the table since he was busy fixing up breakfast. Amongst the clinking of silverware, there was also constant bickering of two other siblings.

"Get your disgusting boots off the table, Todd," sneered a younger boy from across the long and narrow table. "This is a place for dining, not some place to rest your dirty footwear. Plus, they reek."

The other male didn't respond. Instead, he flipped the page of the newspaper he was skimming and leaned back in his chair further. He gently rocked the chair with his feet that were still kicked up on the table.

Damian scoffed at his brother for ignoring him. "Don't pretend you can't me. Remove your feet or face the consequences," he warned.

Jason peeked over the newspaper, quirking a brow. Behind the crinkled newspaper, he was grinning ear to ear at his little brother's temper flaring. Oh, how fun it was to make the little gremlin furious. Damian threw a temper tantrum over anything and everything that displeased him and the older male thought it was hysterical. If anything, it made Jason want to go against the boy's wishes even more. "What are these _so-called_ consequences that you keep threatening me with anyways?"

"Want to come over here and find out?" The youngest brother challenged, piercing him with a scowl.

Jason folded the newspaper. "I have time, why not."

A firm grasp around his elbow stopped him and guided him back down into his seat, the figure shaking his head at the two arguing. "Can't you just get along with each other for a few minutes without roughhousing?" Tim questioned as he began placing down the silverware on the white marbled table.

"I prefer to call it brotherly bonding," Jason corrected.

"Step back, Drake. He needs to learn proper manners." Damian's emerald eyes sparked with determination.

Jason, who was sipping at his water, choked upon hearing that. "And you have them?!" He ridiculed, laughter following shortly after as he began slapping the table repeatedly. Jason wiped away a stray tear once his laughter began to die out. "Nice joke. But if anything, I believe I have a lot more manners than you, Dami."

Firm hands gripped Damian's shoulders, giving them a subtle squeeze. "What's all the arguing about? Especially this early in the morning," Bruce questioned. His gaze flickered back and forth between the two as he waited patiently for one of them to answer. The man had half-moons underneath his eyes from lack of sleep, probably only managing a good few hours before having to wake up. He had multiple meetings scheduled and was already dressed in a sleek black suit, prepared for the long day ahead of him. His ebony haired was perfectly slicked back, not a single strand untouched by the sticky gel that was applied.

"To answer your question, father, Jason here thinks he can rest his feet on anything he sees fit. Just a second ago, he had them up on the table and refused to listen to me," the youngest explained. "Look here," he says as he leaned over to point to a stain mark from the teen's boots. "There's dirt stains smeared on the table."

"You little tattletale," Jason squinted at him. The little brat had some nerve.

Tim returned with a wet cloth as he wiped down the spot where Jason's feet were once propped up. The dirt smears soon vanished with the help of a few towelettes.

Damian narrowed his eyes at the action, "Drake, don't do Todd's work for him. He's the one who made the mess so he should be the one cleaning it up!"

Tim blinked. "It's really not that big a deal, it's not difficult to wipe down a little smudge. Also, you can call us by our first names, you know." Even though he practically cleaned most of the dirt, he handed Jason some unused towelettes to finish the job as he went to throw the dirty ones out.

Jason hesitated, pretending not to notice at first. Once he received a look from Bruce, he begrudgingly accepted them and began wiping down the spots Tim missed.

Damian smirked. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it now? Next time you'll think twice about putting your feet up where they don't belong."

Bruce sighed at the brothers' quarrel. Though they talked smack to each other, it hardly ever evolved into them physically hurting one another. Jason would often do small things like flick the younger boy's forehead and teasingly push his head back while Damian tried tackling him, but it was all in a playful manner and rarely ever serious. Tim also got picked on by both brothers but never bothered to give them the gratification of an insult back, having more maturity than the both of them combined. Or that's what Tim liked to think, at least. Tim could still be playful himself but he was definitely more on the shy side, more-so around new people.

"Ah, Master Bruce, glad you could join us for breakfast," Alfred greeted. "Master Tim, could you please fetch me the plates you had earlier?"

Tim nodded and picked up the ceramic plates sitting on the table as he brought them over to Alfred, placing them on the counter beside him. "I've been meaning to ask…" Tim says, his gaze shifting around the room. "Where's Dick?"

"I was wondering the same thing," Bruce muttered.

"Probably sleeping in. That lucky basta-"

"Jason," Bruce warned, shaking his head once.

"Potty mouth," Damian rolled his eyes and shook his head, copying his father without knowing. Yep, definitely related.

"What? It's true! I don't get why we even have to go to school," he complained. "It's boring and they never teach you anything worth-while."

"Education is very important, Master Jason," Alfred chastised as he cleansed his hands with a towelette. "Tim, if you'd be so kind to wake up Master Dick and tell him breakfast is ready, I'd greatly appreciate it. Chop, chop. Don't want the food to get cold."

Tim gave the elderly man a small nod before heading out of the kitchen and into the main area. He trekked up the stairs and onto the second floor, heading down the hallways that extended for what seemed like an eternity. Stopping in front of the 18-year old's door, Tim knocked once. When he didn't receive a reply, he knocked once more. "Dick? Breakfast is ready!" Pausing for a moment, he glanced to the doorknob and reached for it, his fingers curling around it. "I'm coming in," he warned when he still didn't get a reply from the older boy. If he wasn't going to comply with words, Tim would just have to wake up him by shaking him or even dragging him out of bed by force if he had to. After giving Dick one more chance to reply, Tim turned the doorknob and carefully opened the door, peeking inside. He expected to see his brother sleeping peacefully in his bed but that didn't happen, in fact, he was nowhere to be seen.

Stepping closer, the door creaked as it opened further and something rustled from underneath the black piece of cloth in his brother's bed. "D-Dick?" Tim called out nervously, thinking that he might've just been in the bathroom freshening up, however, that idea was tossed aside when said rustling thing in his bed suddenly sat up, making Tim jump back.

Tim's eyes bulged out of his sockets as he studied the abnormally tiny figure that was curled in what seemed to be one of Dick's t-shirts that draped around the infant's body. He thought he was hallucinating it but when he tried rubbing his eyes, the infant was still there. Dazzling blue eyes stared at him with childish wonder as Tim's mouth worked, trying to find the words trapped there. "B-Bruce!" He called out, still eyeing the child warily. _Please tell me this is just another child he decided to take in last second and haven't told us about yet__, _Tim had hoped. Though, those eyes were unmistakably his. He recognized them anywhere and they belonged to one person and one person only.

_That being Richard John 'Dick' Grayson._

END.

**Author's Note:**

Ooh boy, I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter either, it's kind of meh. Honestly, my writing has really gone downhill, most likely due to taking such a long break to practice drawing. Hopefully I can improve and get more inspiration, but it's quite difficult. I'll do my best to keep at it though as I don't like giving up. I promise I'll look over this chapter later and correct any errors, just really wanted to get it up and posted! So here it is. Sorry for OOC characters and whatnot, I'm definitely not the best at certain characters but I'll continue to try. :"D

On another note, I just watched the Joker movie tonight and loved every second of it, quite an interesting take.

Anyways, feel free to review and let me know what you think. You can also leave suggestions for future chapters, give criticism, anything will help, really! Until then~~


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3: **__Alterations_

—

Bruce was startled upon hearing Tim's shaken voice for him. Damian, Jason, and Alfred were exchanging concerned looks as Bruce got up from his chair at the table and zoomed out of the kitchen without a second thought. Sprinting through the foyer, he turned to the stairs, dashing up them within the blink of an eye before turning and continuing his journey down the long, narrow hallway. He stopped abruptly when seeing the young teenager peek out from Dick's room, his complexion paler than before.

Tim's mouth worked, trying desperately to get the words to form but instead, the male just gestures inside the room with his pointer finger. His eyes followed the motion as they landed at the tiny form in his brother's bed.

"What's wrong?" Bruce questioned. When he didn't get an answer, he followed the teen's hand and walked over to inspect the situation that had Tim so spooked. What he didn't expect was to see an infant, possibly a year old, to be staring at him with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. He was so incredibly tiny that the man probably wouldn't have spotted him without the help of Tim who pointed in the direction of the child. Bruce studied the small boy as he took a few steps towards him, his own blue eyes wide with shock. The man turned his head towards Tim, "is this…?"

"Y-Yeah, I think so," Tim replied as he watched Bruce settle on the edge of the bed. "I mean- it has to be. Who else would it be?"

The baggy clothes covering the child was also a dead giveaway. Dick Grayson had shrunk from an 18-year to an infant overnight. That had to be it. It certainly wasn't the 18-year-old's child, he knew better than that and besides, a child would be the last thing on the vigilante's mind, especially with how busy and time-consuming his job was. Heck, the man hardly had any time to sleep as it was.

Bruce wrapped one of the extra blankets around the infant, bundling him up as he then cradled him in the crook of his arm. The young infant didn't detest against the man's actions and instead, nuzzled into his chest, his brilliant blue orbs staring up at him. They blinked a few times, eyelashes fluttering with sleepiness. "It's definitely him," Bruce agreed. He knew it from the beginning, although it was difficult to believe his current situation. How the hell did the teenager de-age? Was that possible? It wasn't too far-fetched. He'd seen some peculiar stuff before, this is just one of the many to add to that list. The only question now was to figure out how it happened and if there was a way to reverse such a thing.

Tim inched closer to Bruce as he observed his older brother- or should he say younger now. "You think there might be some residue on his suit or even his weapons?"

"You're probably right. Let me search, do you mind holding him for a moment?" He gently handed the infant off like a baton.

Tim blinked, having no other choice but to accept the bundle who was still awake but on the brink of sleep. Deciding it was best, Tim took Bruce's spot on the edge of the bed as the older man began searching the room for the Nightwing suit. The teen gently rocked his brother, hoping he'd just fall asleep. He didn't really know what to do with an infant, much less a child. It was one story if he were Robin, but another if he was donning his civilian name and normal clothes. Thankfully, he'd learn a few tips and tricks here and there but by no means was he the best at jobs like these- but at least he could say he was better at it than Jason and Damian. Dick on the other hand, was always good with children. Probably because he grew up with multiple siblings and practically took care of them when Bruce was busy or Alfred was cleaning or preparing dinner.

While Tim looked after Dick, Bruce began his search for the costume. He opened the bathroom door, scanning the floors thoroughly before shutting it when the black and blue costume didn't show up. Next, he moved onto the bedroom floor which had some shirts strewn here and there. He examined the pieces of clothing, collecting them as he moved over to the laundry basket, ready to discard them when he saw it. "Aha," he says, reaching down and plucking out the costume from the basket.

"Did you find it?" The young teen asked in a whisper after hearing his father's small exclamation.

"Yeah, I did," he said as he returned to the bedside. "Sleeping?"

Tim nodded once. "Yeah, guess he's pretty tired. Dick doesn't exactly get much sleep as it is and being de-aged probably just adds to his exhaustion ten-fold."

Bruce raised a brow at this. "He hasn't? I thought I told him that I could handle things. You mean to tell me that he didn't come back here these past few days?" The man knew Dick had been pushing himself too hard and even volunteered to comb through both sections of Gotham. Alone. That way, Dick could catch up on the sleep he missed. It was a demanding job; to search the vast, criminal-ridden city without any assistance. However, Bruce had done it plenty of times before. It was a routine that he was already used to.

"Well no and if he did, it was really early in the morning. Like 4am or 5am but last night, I think I heard him come in much earlier. I also heard the shower running, too," Tim explained, inspecting the dark strands of hair on the boy's small head. "His hair is still slightly damp," he met Bruce's gaze again. "You think he tried washing off whatever that stuff is?" Tim asked, pointing to the suit.

Bruce held the suit out in front of him. Narrowing his eyes, he analyzed the costume; a shimmering powder glinted in the rays of the warm sunlight as they seeped in through the window-panes. "What is this stuff?" He questioned, pinching the fine edges of the suit as he kept studying the faint powder lingering on the costume.

"You think that's the cause of Dick de-aging?" Tim questioned, head tilting slightly.

"Not sure but it's the only lead we have," he replied back. "I'm going to go down to the batcave. Do some research, get some samples, you know the drill."

"But what about your meetings?"

"They'll have to wait, this is more important at the moment," Bruce said, glancing down at Dick who was sleeping peacefully in Tim's arms. He was still wrapped up in the blue blanket, his ebony hair falling just above his closed lids, mouth slightly ajar as he inhaled, then silently exhaled. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't one of the most adorable things he'd seen but he couldn't help but worry that he may be stuck like that for a while. There wasn't a thought in his mind that he couldn't be changed back. Bruce would do everything in his power to get the boy back to his original age, no matter what.

"Alfred's going to scold you. You've already missed quite a few meetings already, can you afford to skip another?" Tim questioned again, worry coating his voice.

"Trust me when I say, this'll be an exception," Bruce says confidently.

—

"Absolutely not, sir."

"You don't know the severity of the situation, Alfred," Bruce explained but the butler wasn't budging.

"Then please, do tell. What's so important that you need to cancel your meetings on such short-term notice?" The elderly man let out a small sigh, eyes flickering around the room.

Jason and Damian were still seated at the dining table, munching on their breakfast as they watched the show unfold. The pair couldn't figure out why their father was hell-bent on skipping the meetings and staying home that day. One thing was for certain, Alfred was not having it and it showed. It was to be expected though, Bruce had been missing out on quite a few of his important meetings recently. Usually he was good at attending them but as of recent, no so much.

"Alfred, let me at least sho-"

"And where's Master Tim and Richard?" He cut the younger man off. Their breakfast was already getting cold due to them dilly-dallying. How long did it take for the boy to wake his brother up? For the first time, he noted the Nightwing costume folded in his arm. "And why do you have Master Richard's Nightwing costume?"

"That's what I'm trying to explain to you," Bruce says with a huff. "We have a bit of a problem- well, Dick does."

"Is that whta Tim wa scrmin abot?" Jason spoke from across the room, mouth full of chewed up pancakes.

Damian scowled and cringed, "Todd, swallow your food first, then speak. You really are indeed, an idiot." He didn't know why he ever bothered, Jason was never one to listen.

For once, Jason complied and gulped. "Lemme try that again, Is that what Tim was screaming about? What happened?" Bruce still didn't go into any detail about it, only that it was about their older brother and that something had happened to him. "Where are they?"

"Right here." Tim appeared around the corner, still holding the figure in his arms. It was difficult to tell what it was as the child was still nuzzled against Tim's chest, the blanket covering the majority of the boy's body. "You see...how do we put it," the male mused and shuffled the infant a bit so everyone in the room could see what he was holding.

"Oh dear," Alfred whispered, "is that?"

"Yeah," Bruce nodded. "We think he somehow de-aged overnight and as odd as that sounds, I'm pretty certain of it. I found some residual powder on the suit, I think it's the cause of...well..this. I need to take the day off to research this stuff so I can find out what it even is. I wish we could ask him what happened, but that's highly unlikely with how young he is. We have to figure out on our own."

"And I'm sure the world's greatest detective will figure that out but please sir, at least attend the first meeting. You can't afford to miss them all. I can assure you the suit will still be here untouched when you return and or if you'd like, I'm sure Master Jason or Master Tim can sample the powder for you," he suggested.

Bruce frowned and shook his head in reply, "no, I have to do it. I just don't want a slip up."

"Then I will take this from you and place it somewhere safe for your return," Alfred says, taking the suit from the man. "It's one meeting, Master Bruce. And I'm positive it will go by quick."

"And what about Dick?" The man asked, turning to the small infant Tim was still holding. Jason was trying to get a turn holding him but Tim eyed him skeptically, and as for Damian, he was still busying himself by finishing his breakfast, not leaving a single morsel behind. Once he was finished, he excused himself and walked over to see what all the fuss was about. He didn't look impressed.

"So Grayson got himself turned into a child? Must've gotten careless," he crossed his arms.

"Let me try holding him," Jason says, persistent on wanting a try.

"Shhh! He's sleeping, do you really want to go and wake him?" The child stirred in Tim's arms and the teens stiffened, freezing like statues as to not wake their brother and thankfully, he decided to sleep a little longer.

"Hmm, I'm sure he'll be okay for an hour or two with his brothers watching over him. And of course, I'll see to Master Richard while you're away as well," Alfred reassured Bruce who was still worrying. "But it's only a matter of time before he'll need to eat. We won't know for certain how long he'll be in that state, but perhaps we should go and get him the necessities needed for a child...erm, this young. How old is he exactly?"

"Don't know, but we estimated about a year and maybe a few months," the billionaire replied. "It'd be best, do you mind picking up a few things?"

Alfred hummed, "that young, huh? He probably can only communicate using a few words or gestures but that would be about it. This is going to be tricky, indeed. And to answer your question, yes. I'll be sure to purchase whatever is needed, do not worry yourself, sir."

"Thanks, Alfred. I'll be back soon and if you put someone in charge, have it be-"

"Master Tim. Of course," the englishman nodded.

Jason was usually the one in charge whenever Dick was absent but with the recent events he pulled; like setting the kitchen ablaze after attempting to cook lunch, sneaking off elsewhere while on patrol with Batman, causing a few brawls in school; the list was endless. He wasn't the only one to cause trouble though as Damian often found himself in his fair share of disastrous events. Tim was the most well-behaved and was the best option at this point. Although, Alfred would be there the majority of the time, so it wasn't too much of a problem, or at least, he hoped it wouldn't.

"So, I'm guessing school's cancelled?" Jason questioned.

"I suppose it is for you three, but Master Jason, don't think you'll be spending the day playing video games. That goes for you too," the butler glances to Damian who in return crossed his arms and scowled.

"Lemme guess, you want us to watch Grayson?" The youngest assumed. How was he supposed to watch a child? He didn't know how to babysit. That was his older brothers' job. And to watch after one this young wasn't an easy task. If anything, Jason and Tim should be the ones to look after him, they were the oldest.

Bruce sighed inwardly, _would this really be okay?_ Putting his trust in both his boys and the butler, he decided to take his leave before Alfred scolded him again. At least he could get it done and over with, then finally begin working on reversing the situation.

"Now now, it's not that bad," Alfred assured Damian but he wasn't buying it.

"Well, let's just hope he stays sleeping before we can turn him back," he replied as his emerald eyes glared at the small child. However, the world was never on his side and young Dick Grayson's eyes fluttered open. "That's just wonderful," he scoffed. Why in the world did he always jinx things? He had the subtle feeling that this day was going to be never ending, and that looking after a 1-year-old Dick Grayson was going to be tougher than any of them had originally thought.

END.

**Author's Note:**

I don't want to degrade my own writing but dang I'm having a lot of trouble with it lately. Perhaps lack of inspiration and motivation, not really sure. Sorry it took a bit to get this chapter out, I'll try and look it over later like always. Hopefully future chapters I write up with be better. I still have quite a few ideas that hopefully don't backfire on me!

I'm still not sure if I'll add other characters or not. If you want me to, then I may. I guess we'll just see. Review, give suggestions or criticism. Anything helps.~~


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